


What He Knew

by Shaddy_pink



Series: Them [2]
Category: Spirou et Fantasio
Genre: F/M, Introspection, M/M, Multi, Questioning Sexuality, Romance, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaddy_pink/pseuds/Shaddy_pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spirou was a man of action, not words. A doer, not a thinker.</p><p>And he certainly was not doubting particular aspects of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Spirou et Fantasio, and all related intellectual property belong to the Dupuis publishing company.

_***_

Spirou watched with vague amusement as Fantasio took Seccotine by the hand, the two of them re-entering the penthouse where the music was much clearer. The younger woman had a slightly suspicious look on her face the whole time, and the redhead couldn’t blame her.

_It IS pretty strange of him,_ he thought to himself, leaning over the ledge of the terrace to take in more of the view: It was a cloudless night, but the stars weren’t all that noticeable thanks to the light pollution, but even then, the bustling urban streets had a charm of their own, as cars and people passed by in droves, off to one destination or another, while the neon signs of neighbouring buildings continued to flash in intermittence and the sights and sounds blended together almost seamlessly.

His Bruxelles really was a beautiful city. He almost wished his two favourite people were back here again to share it with him.

He didn’t mind too much, though. A moment to himself (something he rarely had these days, his time usually divided between the reporting, Champignac’s newest experiments, or the even taking down the freaking mafia) meant a moment to mull over the issues that had recently cropped up in his life, so he decided to tackle the biggest one:

His best friend.

Of course, everything had started back on the mountain. That God Damn Mountain. He was really starting to hate mountains, but he knew he would have to dwell on that later:   
  


_When Fantasio found them, lip-locked and limbs tangled; Spirou felt a myriad of emotions rush through him; shock, embarrassment, confusion, maybe just a little sexual frustration (hey, he was only human), and even a smidgen of guilt, although he wasn’t quite sure why he was feeling that last one; probably just to throw in the proverbial kitchen sink.  
_ __

_Seccotine, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying every minute of it.  
_

_“Care to join us?” she purred, removing one of the arms around his neck to make a ‘come hither’ gesture.  
_

_And even though he knew it was not the right reaction, and that he should be looking anywhere else, his eyes found Fantasio’s and they both looked at each other and he knew they were asking the same question and why did he-  
_

_“Are you CRAZY?” Fantasio exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. “After what I just saw? I don’t know why I haven’t gone blind yet! You damn kids and your idiotic sensibilities…”  
_

_Spirou groaned and gently rolled off of Seccotine, standing up and readjusting his shirt.  
_

_“He does have a point,” he bashfully conceded as he offered a hand to help the young woman up. “I mean, it worked, but maybe next time this happens we should stick to cuddling,” he joked._

_Seccotine looked a little distracted as she accepted his hand and pulled herself to her feet, but she seemed to snap out of it and gave the redhead a mischievous grin. “But traumatising him is so much FUN! We ought to make it a regular pastime!”  
_

_Spirou laughed as he walked over to where Fantasio was standing. The blond man was picking up the mushroom that lay discarded a couple of feet away from them, glowing its usual colour, though perhaps a little greener, the younger man noted, but he assumed it was only because his poor friend was still shaken from what he had seen._

“ _Here, let’s just get back to Champignac before you freeze to death.” Fantasio placed a hand on Spirou’s shoulder as he passed the mushroom back to him, a seemingly mundane gesture, but the redhead noticed something more than slightly jarring:  
_ __

_The brief moment the mushroom was still in Fantasio’s hand after he had touched him, the colour had changed to the faintest shade of pink._

Spirou sighed. That incident had certainly raised some questions, but he had to put it on the back burner, as his budding relationship with Seccotine had taken priority, and how could it have not? She was pretty, sharp-witted, and just a little naughty in the best way possible; a coquettish bundle of teasing gestures and femininity that that drew him in like metal to a magnet and simply did not let go.

In short, he had fallen in love,

And Fantasio had given him hell for it:  
  


_After weeks and weeks of arguments, tension, and ill-will that even made Spip vanish for hours on end, Spirou was sure he was nearing the end of his rope. He didn’t even KNOW who his best friend was anymore, and yet they still continued to work and live together by the same clockwork they always had._

_Maybe therein laid the problem.  
_

_He hadn’t really considered the idea that perhaps all the time they spent together, all the ways their lives intersected and overlapped, wasn’t exactly healthy. He knew it was safe to say their relationship was more than a little co-dependent, but for the longest time, all Spirou had was Fantasio, and all Fantasio had was Spirou, and together they travelled, adventured, risked their necks, and through everything, they were the only true constant that the other had.  
_

_Even their home life was the epitome of domesticity: They pooled their income together, made joint decisions in terms of important purchases, wordlessly shared the housework, stuck it out during times of financial hardship, took care of each other when one fell to illness or injury, bickered over outstanding bills and who’s turn it was to buy the groceries, and then again over what was forgotten to be picked up,  
  
But now that was changing: There was another vital person, one more “appropriate”, in Spirou’s life, but not in Fantasio’s,_

_And perhaps they just couldn’t continue in this state of imbalance._

_So when Fantasio finally told (yelled at) him one day, when they were attempting to make lunch in the kitchen, that he should move out, Spirou venomously agreed with him.  
  
Even though he didn’t really mean it, he was sure neither of them did, but it stung all the same._

Rambunctious laughter interrupted Spirou’s reverie, but it didn’t deter him for long, and after accepting another glass of champagne from a hired waiter making his rounds, he settled back into his thoughts.

Looking back, Spirou knew something had to be done at the time. Regardless of everything, nothing would have been worth losing Fantasio. Absolutely nothing:

_“Well, are you happy now?” Spirou hissed, clutching a hand over his throbbing eye._

_They were stationed in Fantasio’s bedroom (Spirou had moved his belongings, bed and all, to the empty room down the hall when sharing hadn’t been an option anymore), glaring at each other from opposite ends of the space._

_Fantasio had faired not much better; his wounded lip was bleeding faster than he could stem it, leaving a few drops to land on his shirt and the carpeted floor._

_“No.” The older man finally growled. “No, I’m not happy, and I haven’t been for a while.”_

_Spirou immediately snapped to attention and almost teleported in front of Fantasio, gripping him firmly by the shoulders._

_“Why?” he demanded, conscious of the sharpness in his tone, but not particularly caring. “Tell me!”_

_His friend said nothing and refused to look at him.  
_

_“TELL ME!” he repeated, his anger giving way to something akin to desperation.  
_

_Shoulders heaving, Fantasio suddenly lunged out and gripped him by the collar, the frustration clearly evident in his light-blue eyes._

_“Because you’re going to leave and I don’t know what I’ll do without you!”_   
  


That moment had cinched it for him; what Spirou could only question, Fantasio had always wanted, and in a twisted sort of way, it had made things a little easier:  
  


_He couldn’t call it a true confession; it was still worded ambiguously enough to keep one guessing, but for Spirou, it was still enough for him to put two and two together._

_So, that explained a hell of a lot.  
_

_Suddenly, he had to wonder how long it took his best friend to realize he was in love with him, or if there was even a realization to come to. It didn’t make any sense, though: Between Ororea, the models, that chick from Tahiti, and many others in between, Spirou was more than certain that Fantasio was attracted to females.  
_

_But sometimes there are exceptions to every rule, he argued to himself._

_He walked over and braced his hands on the wooden vanity, head bowed, trying to gather his thoughts._

_Okay. He knew what to do: It wasn’t very orthodox, but he could try. If only for Fantasio’s sake._

_He turned around to see said best friend sitting on the foot of the bed, paler than usual, and probably still in shock from his admission._

_Also bleeding. Still very much bleeding._

_Without much preamble, he opened a drawer and took out the first-aid kit, undoing the latches and removing some tissues and a tube of antiseptic cream from the box. He then sauntered over and sat down beside the other man. When he used the tissues to wipe away the excess blood, Fantasio had looked at him warily, but when he moved to apply the cream, he was stopped by a hand grasping his forearm.  
_

_“Spirou,” he muttered, clearly defensive, but at least not distrusting. “What are you doing?”_

_“What I always do when you get banged up.”_

_Fantasio paused, seeming to mull over something.“Even if you’re the one who did the banging?”_

_…Wait. Was he serious? He couldn’t be serious. Of all the ways to phrase that…_

_Then Fantasio gave a snort, and Spirou responded with one of his own, and then, without even truly knowing why, they both burst into peals of laughter, doubled-over on the bed, as if the weeks and weeks’ worth of tension had melted away, all in that single moment._

_When Spirou wiped away the tears in his eyes to get a better look at the man beside him, he knew his fears had been unfounded:_

_This was his best friend. This was his Fantasio._

_This was worth it._   
__

_Then somehow amidst the jokes and even a brief appearance from their rather relieved-looking squirrel, the laughter between them had finally died, and for the moment, the mood was sober._

_Spirou had to look away to steel his nerves. Okay, he could do this. Just one. That was all he needed, and it would answer everything._

_He reached out and placed his hand on the back of the other man’s neck. Fantasio looked surprised, but he still wasn’t saying anything. Good. Now all he had to do was pull him in a little closer and-_

 

_Split Lip,_

_Seccotine,_

 

_-Crap. Abort. He couldn’t do it. At least not right now, anyway._ __

_At this point, though, he knew he had to do_ something _, so he pressed their foreheads together instead. It wasn’t the best substitution, but he supposed it was just as good a time as any to say the words that were always implied between them, but had long remained unspoken. Perhaps too long:_

_“Listen. I’m not going to say I don’t want to be with her, because I still do, but she CAN’T replace you. Nobody can, and I’m not looking for anyone to try. You understand?”_

_Fantasio didn’t say anything, but Spirou felt him nod, and when the older man leaned back, just enough to lean forward again to embrace him, Spirou knew that while the issue still remained partially unresolved, he could finally relax._

_At least for now.  
  
_

Except, that ‘now’ was long over, and that nagging need for some sort of definition, for something concrete, had returned.

He thought about the names that didn’t quite match:   
  


_Friend. Partner. Brother. Lover.  
  
_

He thought about the descriptors that didn’t quite fit:

_  
Platonic. Romantic. Sexual.  
  
_

He thought about the labels that weren’t quite right: _  
  
_

_Gay. Straight. Bi-_

 

“FUCK IT!” Spirou swore, banging his fist on the ledge, which had, in consequence, garnered the attention of his fellow patrons on the balcony.

He chuckled sheepishly, remembering that he far from the only one here, and after gesturing to the others that he was indeed sound in the head and they could resume their usual business, he looked back at the view, mind made up.

Sure, he could think and analyze and agonize until the cows came home, but what would that accomplish? Not a damn thing. He knew he was in way too deep to just ignore it. He had to find out. He _needed_ to find out.

So, come hell or high water, he was going to finish what he started.

He left the terrace and went to find Fantasio.  
  


  
_***_


	2. Chapter 2

_***_

When he entered the penthouse, he was surprised to see the groups of patrons fairly dispersed, indicating that a considerable amount of them had already left. This was puzzling- surely it couldn’t have been that late.

The clock on a nearby wall, however, told a different story.

It was already a quarter to three.

Spirou’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Was he really lost in his thoughts for that long?

Deciding he no longer had any time to waste, he immediately began scanning the main levels of the floor space, trying to find a pair of blondes, probably arguing, amongst the remaining guests.

After a few moments, he discovered he was only half-right:  
  
There they were, sitting together on a loveseat, conversing like old and intimate friends. Fantasio seemed to have told a joke, because Seccotine was genuinely laughing. With him. Not at him.

He couldn’t help but to wonder if someone had spiked that last champagne he drank.

“SPIROU!!” They both exclaimed when they caught sight of him, raising their drinks in celebration, as if the young man in question had been gone for a few days instead of just a few hours.

He noticed the few empty glasses scattered on the table in front of them.

Ah, well that explained it.

When he joined them, Seccotine immediately pushed a full shot glass of something clear towards him.

Spirou wanted to decline, still feeling the light buzz from the two or so glasses of champagne he had earlier (his status as a lightweight had always been an endless source of amusement for the two blondes), but perhaps one more stronger drink wouldn’t hurt. Liquid courage and all that.

“Cheers,” he declared tentatively, raising his shot glass and downing the contents in one go. It didn’t take long for the warmth to spread pleasantly throughout his body. Very pleasantly.

Wow, what was in that stuff?

Knowing that he would probably get nothing accomplished if he had any more, the redhead reached around Fantasio to tap Seccotine on the shoulder. The young woman blearily focused on him.

“Look, it’s great to see you two are getting along so well, but I’m going to have to borrow him for a second, is that okay?”

Seccotine giggled. “Of course, baby. Just promise you won’t have too much fun without me,” she added, with a wink so obvious it was almost awkward.

Spirou could only grit his teeth and nod as he rose from the couch, tugging Fantasio by the sleeve. Damn her unintentional perception.

“Okay, buddy,” the older man hiccupped, throwing an arm around his best friend’s hips, the highest point he could reach while sitting. “Take me anywhere, cause for the rest of the night, I’m all yours!”

Spirou simply hauled him to his feet and impatiently dragged him off by the wrist, if only to get away from his girlfriend’s hysterical cackling.

_***_

It was a stroke of luck that he managed to find an empty room for the sake of privacy. It was a twist of cruel fate that it happened to be a boudoir of sorts: A lacy bed, lights that couldn’t go any brighter than dim, and, of all things, scented candles.

Great. First Seccotine, and now a room practically set up for a romantic tryst. It was like the universe was purposefully trying to screw with him.

Well, he thought sardonically, if the mood was right.

He closed the door behind him (somewhat annoyed at the fact it couldn’t lock) and tentatively sat down on the bed, motioning for Fantasio to join him. Alright, just a quick briefing and then diving right in. If he waited any longer, he was sure he would only lose his nerve aga-

Spirou never had a chance to finish that thought, however, as he suddenly felt lips, rougher and less sweet than what he was used to, and a tongue that tasted awfully like… was that absinthe? Either way, they attacked his own with a type of voracious hunger he had never felt exuded by someone else. The grip on his shoulders was almost uncomfortably tight, but this feeling, this sensation…

Before he even had a chance to register what in world was going on, he felt everything suddenly jerk away. When he opened his eyes, all he saw before him was Fantasio, eyes wide and hand covering his mouth.

“I- I couldn’t help myself,” he whispered, dropping his hand in defeat. “You were just there and you’re _always_ there and I… Oh God, you hate me, don’t you?”

He _looked_ apologetic. He _sounded_ terrified.

Spirou wanted to reassure him, to tell him it was alright, that he wasn’t angry, didn’t hate him, but all that came out was an “I… uh?”

Being kissed senseless by your best friend, and realizing that he wasn’t half bad at it, tend to threw you for a loop.  
  
Especially when you also realized you didn’t dislike it.

Spirou had to think about that for a moment: He didn’t dislike it. Hell, if anything…

Knowing that the other man could be having a meltdown at any second, Spirou allowed himself to settle until he could form a coherent sentence. “Mind if we try that again?”

Fantasio looked distraught. “I KNOW, I _KNOW_ , and I’m so sorry and I’m a terrible friend and- Wait, what?  You actually want to…?”

Spirou grinned. “A little.”

Fantasio hesitated for a moment, but then: “Okay.”

So they tried it again, just a bit more slowly. He felt Fantasio slide his fingers from his shoulder to his neck, and then threading them through his hair. Spirou responded by sliding his arms and tightening them around the blond’s waist. Feeling a little braver, he ran his tongue against what felt like Fantasio’s teeth, and was rewarded with a small moan from the other man. He took it as an opportunity to delve a little deeper; tongue twining tongue and lips brushing lips and no matter how Spirou moved, Fantasio continued to match him.  
  


Like perfect mirror images.

 

He was about to move away for a breath, but Fantasio had managed to catch his bottom lip between his teeth instead, tugging gently, and he lingered, lingered, until finally letting go with the soft _snap_ of lip-hitting-gums.

Spirou’s eyes shot wide open when they finally pulled back, still only mere inches away from each other. He couldn’t exactly say he had his fair share of kisses aside from Seccotine, but even then:  
  
Holy. _Hell._  
  


Spirou wanted to crack a joke about how they could have figured all this out a lot sooner if he knew Fantasio could do _that_ , but the older man’s sights were set somewhere else; at the door, to be specific.

Along with a petite blonde in a black cocktail dress whose expression was completely unreadable.

Seccotine.

_***_

The fact that she had managed to find them couldn’t even surprise Spirou anymore; Seccotine was Seccotine and getting into things was what she did best. She had probably gotten bored of waiting and went to seek them out instead. He looked back at Fantasio, desperate for him to give her some sort of explanation that he himself didn’t know how to begin, but the blond gentleman seemed to have a completely different train of thought, keeping his eyes on his rival.

“Care to join us?” he whispered huskily, not even bothering to move away from the redhead, his visage dripping with so much ironic smarm that even Spirou flinched a little.

Gauging her reaction precariously, he watched as Seccotine exhaled loudly through her nose and shook her head with incredulity, striding over, albeit with a stumble or two, towards the two men.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she kneeled onto the bed, grabbed Fantasio by the bowtie, and pulled him towards her, giving him a heated bite of a kiss.

And Spirou, less than a foot away from them, decided that, as bizarre as it may be, it was better to just accept this turn of events. He had remembered from a long time ago, when he was very young, of someone telling him that at the end of the day, things had a way of working out for themselves.

And if this was how it was supposed to work out, he could be okay with that, at least for the meantime.

He soon noticed that in between bouts of their rather aggressive (and rather titillating, he had to admit) make-out session, however, both Seccotine and Fantasio would open their eyes to cast very expectant glances directly at him, as if to say,

_“Well? Come on, you’re in on this too.”_

So, they wanted him to join in. That meant all three of them. Together.

Hoo boy.

Wishing he had another shot to quickly throw back, Spirou slowly crawled across the bed to make his way to Seccotine’s other side. He kissed her cheek, then her neck, and she acknowledged him by removing one of the arms she had hooked on Fantasio and wrapping it around the younger man’s waist before turning her head away from the older man, redirecting her attention to the redhead.

It was easier with Seccotine; still just as enjoyable, but perhaps a little more automatic: For him, her lips were far from uncharted territory- she knew what he liked and he knew what she liked, and even then, Fantasio’s presence seemed to have awoken something within her, and when she playfully nipped Spirou’s tongue, catching the younger man off-guard, he could definitely say it wasn’t a bad thing.   


Though the novelty and curiosity made him switch back to Fantasio on occasion, he remained closer to Seccotine. Nothing against his best friend, but she was ‘safer’, more familiar, if only in terms of physicality, and he didn’t want to push into anything too serious too quickly…

The ghosts of two whispered voices suddenly flooded his senses.

 

One soft and tinted with red-hot desire: “You’re gorgeous.”

One deep and brimming with near-adoration: “You’re perfect.”

 

He felt Fantasio move behind him to pull off his tuxedo jacket as Seccotine began unbuttoning his dress shirt, and he realized that maybe, for the first time, they had found the one thing they could always agree on:  
  
Himself.  
  


“Hey, guys? Guh-” he spluttered as Seccotine kissed his collarbone, working her way down to his chest, while Fantasio was using his teeth and tongue to do something that felt utterly _sinful_ against the redhead’s ear.

Spirou closed his eyes and held back the moan threatening to leave his throat, not wanting to further encourage them, but _Sabre de BOIS_ , they were good. Too good. Even he couldn’t prevent his breath from hitching when he felt lips and hands, first one pair, then two, exploring the terrain of his torso, from back to front to back…

And they were overwhelming, they were all-encompassing, and they were his, his, _his-  
  
_

 -But. _Wait_. No.  
  


He had to stop. It couldn’t be like this. Not yet. God help him, not yet. He just wasn’t ready.

“Enough!” He pulled away from both of them and got off the bed. He was red-faced, flustered, and more than a little exasperated. Really, what were they thinking? Right here? Right now?

Then he heard Seccotine hiccup somewhere a few feet away from him.

Oh. Right. __

_He_ was tipsy. _They_ were drunk. It wasn’t a huge difference, but it was still enough for him to know that they weren’t in a completely rational state of mind.

As he redid the buttons on his shirt, Spirou turned around to see the two blondes glaring at each other, and he couldn’t help but to feel some sort of affectionate amusement; with the silent admonishments and the not-so-subtle inebriated gestures, he could almost hear the banter between them: __

_“You screwed up, you talk to him!”_

_“YOU screwed up, YOU talk to him!”_

_“YOU’RE his ‘best friend’!”_

_“YOU’RE his ‘girlfriend’!”  
_

In the end, it seemed they finally came to a conclusion as they both fully sat up and readjusted their articles of clothing: Seccotine fixing the straps on her dress, Fantasio redoing his bowtie.

“Come here, Sparrow,” Seccotine murmured when they had finished, with Fantasio patting the empty space between them on the bed.

Spirou complied, noting that they both at least _looked_ a little more sober, and the young woman gently threaded her arm into the crook of his.

“I know,” she sighed, pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek in apology. “We went a little too far, didn’t we?”

Fantasio didn’t reply, but he wordlessly picked up the red tuxedo jacket on the floor and draped it around Spirou’s shoulders, to which the redhead responded by leaning against him, showing he recognized the intimacy of the gesture and that he too was forgiven.

Surrounded by their love and understanding, he entertained the idea of talking about it, to ask questions and give explanations and maybe, finally, unearthing the last enigma of the night:  
  
 _The three of us, what is this? What are we?  
  
_ Spirou smiled when, instead of hours or days or weeks of agonizing, the answer already came to him. Much quicker than expected:  
  
 _Who fucking cares?  
  
_

He didn’t have to say a damn thing about it.

Instead, he slipped his hands into Seccotine’s and Fantasio’s, intertwining his fingers with both of theirs.  The gesture was acknowledged with content acceptance from one and pleasant surprise from the other.

“Come on. Let’s go before someone kicks us out.”

The three of them stood up, still united, and made their way to the door.  
  


_***_

“…Hey,” Fantasio interjected, long after leaving the penthouse and just before exiting the building. “Did any of us actually get any info for the article?”  
  
Spirou refrained from saying anything, letting Seccotine use her free hand to do the face-palming for him instead.  
  


_***_

Somewhere on an intersection in the heart of downtown Bruxelles, nearing four in the morning, one could hear the silence of the late night broken by the howl of uproarious laughter: Two men and a woman, all dressed to the nines, aglow with liquid indulgence and the presence of each others’ being. They gambol about with the carefree nature of children; running, stumbling, and propping up one another to keep themselves from completely falling over.  
  
They look ridiculous, but one could easily figure out that they can’t be bothered to care.

The young at heart rarely do.

_***_


End file.
